


Reach Out

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abuse, Knock Out has problems in this fic, M/M, Mental Illness, Schizophrenia, Sexual Abuse, Starscream and Knock Out are not a real couple, all in KO's past, attempted character study, but moments of slash do occur between the two of them, but they'll all for a good reason, this will follow canon until a very particular point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On board the Nemesis, there is a strategic system of checks and balances that keep the roles on board strictly stagnant. And when that balance is broken, nothing will be the same again. Breakdown and Knock Out find themselves in the middle of this tug-of-war between powers, leaderless, and with far bigger problems than just Starscream. Rating may increase as the story moves on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Among the Silent

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this story over on FanFiction and for various reasons felt the need to bring it over here. This story is the, what I consider to be, _better_ version of the story. It's still up on FanFiction if you want to give it a read, but I recommend not spoiling it for yourself and just reading this. Believe me - even the first chapter has had a major face lift. :)
> 
> "This" denotes quotes from outside places. In this particular chapter, the quote is from Hamlet. I formatted it that way in homage to one of my favorite fanfic authors, QWERTYbee, and also not to disrupt formatting. I hope you enjoy!

Knock Out heaves a sigh of annoyance as he stalks off of the main bridge of the  _Nemesis_. Starscream’s leadership was a dark mark on the Decepticon’s history books, and one that Knock Out wasn’t sure he could survive living through any longer. The seeker blamed all failures on those under him; the vehicons, Breakdown, Soundwave, and the CMO himself.

 

Turning a bend in the hall, the red mech’s processor couldn’t help but compare the two recent leaders of the Decepticon faction. Under Megatron's rule, everyone knew their place and tasks were simple. Challenging in difficulty and magnitude, without a doubt, but the tasks themselves were straightforward. While the former gladiator scrutinized the results, he did not do it with the same fevered suspicion and panic Starscream wore like a second armor.

 

(Knock Out supposed that the seeker’s ever present paranoia was a reflection of his own deceitful habits. He had to duck his head slightly as he passed Soundwave in the hall; both a show of mute respect, and an attempt to shadow his smirk.)

 

To Starscream, everything was a game. To complete a task too perfectly was to threaten his power and leadership. To leave a task uncompleted was to fail the Decepticon cause, simply to spite the seeker. (Which was true, more times than not.) Failure to complete a task also meant a joor long lecture in the seeker’s _wonderful, sonorous_ voice. With a short chuckle brought on by his own cleverness, Knock Out ended his thoughts on the seeker.

 

The ship’s lights flickered around him, his optics shuttered half-way as his mind turned towards darker roads. His peds dragged a little more, his wheel-heels gliding on the polished space-void metal between each step. (The one blessing of his frame’s composition was his small components for distraction and pleasure –though he prided himself on looking damn good all the same.)

 

But Starscream was the least of his worries.

 

Megatron’s prognosis haunted the doctor – he could recite those charts forwards and backwards if he so chose. Knock Out had seen his fair share of these “hardware” problems; where the CPU would continue to function, and yet the body was beyond repair. A simple procedure, really; though the medic doubted Lord Megatron would appreciate being reincarnated as a mere Vehicon, as those were the only spare bodies available on the _Nemesis._

 

(At least the lord would be awake and capable of leading, though such good graces were lost on him more than once.)

 

The reverse, however, was much rarer, and much more…deadly – for both the patient and doctor. Knock Out had to amend his previous statement; he was only in danger because Soundwave was watching his every move. The silent mech was not stupid; he had to see the patterns. Starscream happily declaring himself leader, Knock Out being made second in command without any thought to the previously existing hierarchy among the Decepticons, lack of any _real_ progress to Megatron’s condition – save for cosmetic – were not the brightest of signs that Megatron would make a full recovery.

 

Soundwave was the mastermind of the Decepticon forces – that was clear to members of both factions. Megatron was physically intimidating, vocally imposing, and mentally terrifying, whereas Soundwave was smart, silent, and still.

 

Knock Out did not doubt his master’s intellectual ability, but he did doubt his amount of drive. Soundwave had the patience to evaluate the different possible outcomes and consequences of a mission; Megatron demanded success at all times, no matter what the difficulty. A simple master to please, if not an intimidating one.

 

Soundwave became even more omnipotent.

 

(A shadow mech, optics and audios in all places, no escape.)

 

He assigned himself missions to the strangest of places on this world, only to return with energon and materials direly needed. Knock Out found himself locked in a political tug of war between Soundwave and Starscream. Both officers believed to have the greatest power on board, and Starscream was nowhere near giving up his “throne.” But, unlike Megatron, Starscream knew exactly what Soundwave was doing.

 

With an irritable sigh, he palmed open the door to his quarters, which were attached to the medbay. Decepticon-purple shelves jutted out from the wall, carrying Knock Out’s various buffers, waxes, polishes, and paints. Some basic, handheld tools also rested on the shelves, for easy grab if he had a case in the middle of the sleep cycle. (Curse this world for having too many time zones to count – up in space, every mech was regulated to Cybertronian hours. Those who spent endless shifts across Earth’s surface came back more asleep than awake; if they came back at all, that is.)

 

Two metal berths rested side by side; enough room for a small table between them, but not much else in the relatively small room. They faced the wall straight ahead of them, exactly parallel to the other. Their occupants were estranged enough to warrant bunks not facing one another, but friendly enough to prevent them from facing the complete other direction. Knock Out, as Chief Medical Officer, rested on the bunk closest to the medbay’s back door, whereas Breakdown rested closest to the main door, for protection. Knock Out had no shortage of enemies.

 

The silence when he stepped into the room was deafening, ringing in his audio receptors. That silence topped the list of things that were wrong with the medic today – there was no outlet for his other problems, no other mech willing to care. Knock Out skirted the larger, thicker berth, instead heading for his own. Sitting down, the medic allowed his wheels a perfect view to Breakdown’s side of the room. Heaving a sigh, he dropped his helm down to his servo, optics closing in shame.

 

Here, behind these closed doors, the guards around his spark could lessen, just the slightest. Not entirely, lest the voices begin again, but as long as he remained carefully neutral, he would be fine. Untouched. Normally he allowed himself to go as deep as he could, simply by virtue of Breakdown’s presence.

 

(A sharp, metallic rock cutting through his oil slick of problems. Knock Out never told, rather mutely climbed above his issues atop Breakdown’s shoulders. Charismatic red optics searched the ocean for any hint of something recognizable as the mech he once was, but the more he searched, the higher the darkness – and the higher the darkness, the more of a chance of him being touched. Still, Breakdown was better than no body.)

 

The one mech he could trust was completely avoiding him, and the hollow feeling of loneliness jarred Knock Out’s spark. Aside from standard work interactions – fixing their (beloved) leader or patrol – the medic hadn’t seen nor heard from the armored van. Normally they entertained themselves with slandering their fellow officers, and Autobots, over their private comm. frequency, but Breakdown had blocked his end of the link. Using the main line was suicide, but it didn’t stop Knock Out from occasionally probing to find his partner.

 

_(He pretended not to notice the stares, the jeering laughs he got from Starscream._

 

_The drones didn’t dare. To piss off the medic was to destroy any hope of making it out of the war alive._

 

_Soundwave was nothing more than a whisper, a specter, a thought of order and nothing more.)_

 

Every mech was entitled to their secrets, but secrets that jeopardized the very purpose keeping them on board were secrets Knock Out could do without. The only reason he remained on board was to save Megatron – frag, it was the sole reason he had been brought on board.

 

(It did not escape his notice that his very summoning was nothing but a ploy for Starscream to appease Soundwave. Nor did it please the medic.)

 

_What good was a medic if he couldn’t even keep his subordinate under control?_ Not that Breakdown was the troubled mech out of the two of them if anything; it was Knock Out who was the wild card.

 

Sighing, Knock Out stretched back onto his berth, closing his optics in thought. Breakdown wasn’t physically ill; secretive scans whilst his partner recharged told him that much. They hadn’t fought in the past few work cycles – how could they have, they weren’t even talking – and Knock Out didn’t recall irritating his partner any time in the past. (The red medic knew he was high maintenance, which typically irritated his partner. Most of the problems were caused by his habits that he had developed whilst they toured the world alone. Talking in recharge, not getting up until nearly midday, and taking the scenic route [or what counted as scenic on this backwater dirt ball of a planet] whenever they had to leave for missions, to name a few.)

 

The silent treatment was wearing on Knock Out's nerves. The dark silence that greeted him whenever he opened their quarters

 

_like all those nights lost and broken, behind bars and dance clubs_

 

_chained up until the Bosses came back, mouth stained with the memories of mechs and the stench of transfluid_

 

_credits stuffed between armor plates_

 

took his processor down dark roads, delving deep into his past, dredging up memories of similar eerie silences

 

_filled with panting intakes before their spikes pressurized once more, and it all was repeated_

 

until Knock Out could only hold onto his sanity by completing menial tasks or slipping into recharge. (Alone in his ocean of problems, the mech couldn’t stand on his own.)

 

The comforting monotony of recharge and repetitive motion soothed away the demons raging in his spark, leveling the voices off into a low buzzing in the back of his mind. Never leaving entirely, but no longer a problem.

 

Knock Out released a sigh of frustration and irritation as he rolled onto his side, one servo beneath his cheek, the other dangling off the bed. His elbow was bent, stretching his abdominals as he lay. Though not like organics, Cybertronians could, in effect, gain weight. The protoform that lay beneath all the armor and metal healed itself depending on the amount of energon in the body. Bigger mechs required more energon to maintain a healthy thickness of protoform; but if Knock Out were to ingest the amount of cubes meant for a mech, say, Breakdown’s size, he wouldn’t fit into his own armor.

 

As a medic, Knock Out was sure to manage his intake to healthy levels – his philosophy was to be perfect inside and out, there was no way he would strain his internals by refusing to drink his energon – but a little stretching never hurt. Exercise without trying; the best kind.

 

Hazy red optics looked around the berthroom, catching the shadows on the wall. He idly swung his arm, just to listen to the click of his joints as he moved the appendage. There was nothing to suggest the blue truck had been there since the solar cycle began. The berth remained empty as a hollow husk of a vehicon, the room’s colors matching the dull shine of a working class mech.

 

It wasn’t worth it. Slowly, Knock Out began to shut down different parts of his CPU, wishing to drag himself into recharge and forget. (There was no high-grade to turn to – how could there be when there wasn’t even enough regular grade to go around?)

 

Soon there was nothing left but to actually fall into recharge. And yet, somehow, Knock Out couldn’t. He lay there for minutes, trying in vain to push himself into the comforting ignorance of sleep.

 

“To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd,” he whispers, the human words feeling strangely elegant and profound to his glossa. Sitting up, he bent his knees and rested his forearms on them, right behind the elongated crowns on the front of his knee strut. His wheels roll against the berth as he thinks, back and forth, a grimace on his face.

 

Where had he gone wrong?

* * *

 

_Transforming, Knock Out sped down the hall at top speed, nearly wiping out a few drones. Starscream hadn't damaged anything vital, except Knock Out's pride and finish. But Knock Out would do much worse when he was done with him._

 

_Half of his processor was trying to come up with ways to get back at the volatile seeker. Megatron himself would be thrilled once he was restored and brought back online, and maybe Knock Out would be promoted to SIC._

 

_The other half busied itself trying to catalogue the damages, and estimate the amount of time that fixing all of this would take. He supposed if he only fixed the damaged areas, he could be finished in around half a joor. But the resulting spottiness was just not worth his time. He would have to completely redo his entire finish, re-coat it all, but that whole process would take about 5 joors._

 

_Breakdown followed, also transformed, driving much more carefully after his partner. Knock Out supposed it was habit; when one transformed, so did the other. The medic groaned as he fishtailed around the corner, transforming back into his mech form and skidding to a stop on his hind wheels. He leaned against the wall next to the doorway to their quarters, his back to the majority of the hall, preventing other mechs from seeing the damage. His arms crossed over his chest as one leg crossed behind the other one, his shoulder against the dark wall. With optics closed to the world, he tried to control his ventilation_

 

the demons in his spark – ever present – raging against their bonds, going in for the kill

 

_as quickly tapped in the passcode to his room. The door opened with a hiss and he darted inside, a flash of red among a void._

 

_Breakdown transformed as well and walked through after his partner, the doors closing immediately behind him. “Well that sucked,” he muttered, automatically putting the lock on the door. He watched as Knock Out pulled down his paints and waxes, cloths and brushes. The humans were very fond of their automobiles, and the CMO benefited hugely from their mutual obsession._

 

_“Fragging seeker, thinking he’s in charge – just who does he think he is, ungrateful son of a glitch,” the medic growled, tapping a switch below his berth to move it flatter, like a human’s berth. Only in the depths of recharge were their berths ever upright, the rest of the time they were flat. But races waited for no one, and to find one that was worth his time took a lot of searching. He almost regretted leaving that morning, now sitting there with a detached door (he had sent Breakdown to retrieve it) and scratches._

 

_“He is, for the time being.”_

 

_“Well it doesn’t mean I have to listen to him, ungrateful fragger,” the racer bit back, tending to his finish reverently. Delicate servos pressed the cloth against his chest, cleaning away the ruined finish there._

 

_“You kind of do,” Breakdown replies. “You have no choice. He’s in charge until Lord Megatron is brought back online -”_

 

_“And you know Starscream has no intention of allowing us to do that.”_

 

_“That aside, our Lord is strong. He’ll make it through. There’s no way he won’t.” A touch of feverish devotion colored his tone, a sickening yellow marring the words. Breakdown loved his mate and his cause and Megatron – he often claimed the mech gave him a second chance when he didn’t think he would ever get one. “Lord Megatron -"  
_

 

_“Enough!” Knock Out dropped the cloth to the berth as he turns to grasp his next layer of paint. “I’ve had just about enough of your pontificating. Megatron can only return if we make him, and as we’ve clearly seen, our new leader won’t allow for anything to happen that he doesn’t approve of,” he mutters, clicking under his breath in Cybertronian curses._

 

_“Starscream is_ not _my leader,” Breakdown growls, turning on his partner with a furious expression. “I only listen to two Decepticons, and one of them is currently laying offline to the world on a berth and no one seems to want to do anything about it!”_

 

_“And what would you have me do? Risk my finish saving a leader that no one wants back?”_

 

_The echoing silken silence that followed comprised of three separate movements; a high melody of the medic’s vanity, a constant thrumming of a temper longing to escape, and a breathless buzzing in the background of a disturbed mind. A symphonic break – then, the hiss of a door and suddenly the trio was cut to a duo._

 

* * *

 

In the days following, Knock Out hadn’t minded the silence too much. Breakdown remained helpful and present in the medical office, and he didn’t offer any resistance to doing what Knock Out ordered. But once their shift was done, Breakdown disappeared.

 

There was no reason for Knock Out to go searching after his partner; after all, he was hardly his guardian. Breakdown was a fully grown mech, and was probably spending his time lounging about with those vehicons, refueling and talking about…well, whatever it was they did. Knock Out wasn’t sure. He had his own life to get back to.

 

The medic raced. The assistant covered. They both ignored the other.

 

And now, a week later, Knock Out was stuck on his berth wondering where he had gone wrong. “There are no men among fools; there is no honor among thieves.” He rolls out of his berth, headed to the medbay door in the back of his quarters. There served no purpose for him to attempt resting, if he could be seen attempting to be helpful.

 

Knock Out takes a few steps toward the medbay, and sudden pain cracks along the back of his helm, drawing a pained groan from the mech under siege. He drops to his knees, denta clenched in pain as he struggles to keep from screaming.

 

The voices were back.

 

He stood, stumbling, inelegant and struggling to remain upright as he palmed the door open. One hand to his forehelm, his optics nearly crossed in pain. The pain only increased, coupled now with a burning in his spark, bringing him to his knees with a howl.

 

**_Oh Knock Out, how we’ve missed you…slut, shameless whore, left alone by his body guard? How sad – no, it’s pathetic._ **

 

Knock Out’s fingers dug into his helm, trying to pull the voices out from within. But it wouldn’t work – he had been suffering with them for years. His optics opened and he stared into the foggy haze of the room. Was this something he would have to deal with again? He thought he had left it all behind – he had been doing so well, not a relapse in a few weeks…

 

He stands, legs trembling as he grabs ahold of the spare medical berth’s edge to stabilize him.

 

_Everyone was watching him, nowhere was safe – Soundwave was out to get him, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t protected, he couldn’t escape, no no no._

 

He locked the doors, shutting the medbay from the inside out. This was an emergency protocol, in his mind

 

\- the shattered, fragmented remains of what remained of his thoughts –

 

and not even Soundwave could breach his locks. Which was the point.

 

**_You can try all you want to keep the spy from coming in, but you can’t stop us from talking. You’ve tried everything – pills, forced stasis, liquid medication, and yet you can’t get us to leave. Wonder why that is?_ **

 

A figure shifted in the far right corner of the room, dark and shadowy. The room began to fill with fog, first at his peds, then at his knee struts. It was light to walk through, the wispy touches against his plating not restraining his movement in any way. That was somehow even scarier.

 

The lights dimmed – or was it his eyes closing? The fog kept touching him, and the figure moved closer. Big, taller than the medic, and physically imposing. There was no fine detail to this being, other than the faint outline of a body.

 

_He was everywhere and nowhere at once._

 

**_Poor, poor Knock Out. Abandoned by all, loved by none._** The voice came from the figure, with glowing green eyes –

 

\- red would have been a comfort, blue a threat. Purple is chaotic, and gold –

A choked sob escapes the medic, and he falls to his knees. Clawing at the berth now, not his own helm, he realizes just how much Breakdown’s absence had affected him. Was it actually Breakdown and _not_ his medication that had –

 

_…his medication._

 

The medic had grown so comfortable in the presence of Breakdown, and was with him all the time, had he remembered to keep taking it? He had slipped it in his morning energon, until Breakdown had stopped talking to him, and his routine had been disrupted. A medic who couldn’t even take his own medicine. How pathetic.

 

The figure steps closer. Knock Out bolts. Ungraceful, running to the cabinets on the other side of Megatron. Before he can reach his drawer, the figure reappears, hissing with no mouth, but those green, _green_ optics were so hypnotic, he couldn’t look away.

 

A scream bubbles up and dies in his throat, as thick as a pot of boiling squid ink and just as choking. The figure leans forward, grabbing him with his servo – curious, he had no digits, a giant claw in it’s stead – and jerks him forward by the throat. **_You think a bottle of pills will make us go away? You think you can stop this?! You’re pathetic, Knock Out, you’ve done nothing but shun us. We’ve protected you, we’ve helped you, and what have you done in return?! Burned us with pills, drowned us with tears, and instead of just ending this pitiful life you’ve –_**

****

The figure looks up suddenly, toward the door. Everything goes on pause – the lights flicker once weakly, then shut off, leaving them in complete darkness. No sound remained, save the deep hiss of Megatron’s inhalations. It was like the void, being in that vacuum filled with light of long dead stars spread across the darkness.

 

**_…someone’s coming._ **

 

And everything disappears, for one, quick, blessed moment. A moment that Knock Out uses to tear the drawer open, grab his scattered pills, and swallow four in rapid succession – one a pulsing yellow, one a clear mint green, one the shade of silver found in the interior of circuit boards, and one a thick matte black.

 

The pounding in his head takes a moment to stop, and he finds himself pawing at his throat – once he could feel and register what he was doing, however. He dropped his hands, panting on the floor of the medbay. The lights stopped flickering, the static hissing returned to its usual low buzzing sound.

 

That…was the worst it had been in a while. Almost as bad as when he first started…well, he didn’t want to think about it. It had been a while, since before he joined the Decepticons, since he had last had an episode like that. But one thing he had learned, whether for better or for worse, was that the voices were never wrong. Someone was coming, and he was in no shape to deal with anyone at the moment.

 

He got to his feet, closing the drawer with a pale fraction of the same force he had used to open it. Turning around, he shuffled back to his quarter’s door, sending a burst of code to the medbay to allow its doors to open again.

 

The quarter’s door closed just as Breakdown entered. Knock Out, exhausted and drowsy thanks to his medicine – should he have taken the black one this early? Now he couldn’t remember – collapsed onto his berth, recharge whisking him away like the savior he never had, and always needed.

 

* * *

 

 

Breakdown stood, dumbfounded, in the entrance to the medbay. Where was Knock Out? Hadn’t he heard the screams? Or was he the cause of the screams?

 

He walked forward, looking around for something as to a clue of what happened. He was bruiser by choice, a tracker by necessity. There were claw marks on the edge of the berth – Knock Out’s fingers – and a faint pile of purple paint chips from the metal of the cabinets. Megatron’s vitals were as they had been for the past few weeks.

 

Knock Out was gone, and something had scared him, but whatever it was, wasn’t here…anymore. The bruiser turns to the berthroom door, large silver peds walking heavily on the metallic floor. Wherever the medic was, at least he was safe. Or so Breakdown hoped.

 

Peeking through the small window set in the black door, Breakdown saw his partner locked in recharge on his berth. He must not have properly set himself up for sleep, as he seemed rather…haphazardly thrown onto the berth, as if he were a sparkling’s discarded softform sleep aid. He was mostly on the berth, however, and Breakdown thought it good enough to leave him alone.

 

He exits the medbay, returning to his original destination when he had been sidetracked by the screaming. He never left Knock Out alone, as creepy as it sounded. His partner was as much his responsibility as Breakdown was his. Camaraderie that strong hardly lasted in the Decepticon forces – one died too soon to form meaningful bonds, and Starscream was as much a retroactive member of the command crew as Ratchet sometimes was to the Autobots.

 

The duo had been working together long enough to be content and comfortable with the other. Rarely were mechs partnered up together for extended periods of time. Ever since the war had gone off world, named individual partners had been fewer and fewer. The Decepticons had had several harsh losses in the beginning the war, decimating their population to nameless drones and a few select officers. Now, they had the bare necessities.

 

A leader: Lord Megatron. A second in command and Air Force Commander: Starscream. A third in command and Chief Tactician: Soundwave. A medic: Knock Out. Ground forces: Drones and Breakdown.

 

The few remaining mechs that Breakdown had heard of weren’t currently on board, or had been offline for a while. Makeshift. Dreadwing and Skyquake. And, of course, Shockwave. According to what little Breakdown knew of before he joined the war, Shockwave had been a brilliant scientist, and had studied with Starscream at the science academy before the war had begun. But now the inventor was lost to time, Makeshift was dead, as was Skyquake – which was a damn shame, Breakdown recalled good times with the green twin. His twin allegedly still lived, but if they were split spark twins, then he wouldn’t be for long.

 

Now, the halls were empty. It was one of those strange hours where the humans were all recharging – but only in certain parts of the world, where it was dark. The lighter parts remained awake and alive. Being in space, there was no light and dark to instruct them when to sleep.

 

He slipped around the corner and into the berthroom. While they had no set recharge hours, it was good practice to take what was given. Or, in this case, what wasn’t given. With no tasks due for Starscream nor any other Decepticon, Breakdown took advantage of the time to himself.

 

Walking quietly through the room, he stepped to his own berth beside Knock Out’s. He lay down in the standard position – though he never stayed that way – flat on his back, optics to the ceiling. Knock Out was silent next to him, aside from heavy intakes and sighs.

 

He was right on the edge of recharge when he heard Knock Out calling his name. Blinking golden optics open, he turned to his side, away from the medic, hoping that his feelings were still made clear. But instead, Knock Out continued to call. “What now, Knock Out?” he muttered, irritated that his precious little sleep was being interrupted.

 

“Don’t leave me don’t leave me no,” he rambled, the words intermingling with static and clicks. “Stop don’t stop yes stop miss you need you voices voices….h-h-haahahaha, voices.” The laughter was disturbing to say the least and Breakdown sat up, looking over at his partner.

 

Knock Out was still asleep, and his mutterings were fading away as he rolled over, but Breakdown couldn’t help but feel as if something were going terribly, terribly wrong. The last time Knock Out had talked like that was when they had first arrived on the Nemesis, and he was surrounded by mechs he didn’t know. The talking had lasted for about a vorn, until he eventually stopped. Breakdown didn’t know how to deal with it, but it had been fine for the past few months…until now.

 

_Whatever caused the change isn’t something that’s new…or so I hope._ Breakdown was something of a guardian to his partner, even if Knock Out was the brains. Just because Breakdown wasn’t the most eloquent speaker didn’t mean he didn’t understand what was going on around him. He was a doer, not a thinker.

 

But he had thoughts.

 

Right now, laying on his berth, Breakdown watched his partner find peace once more under the blanket of recharge, optics shut and servo’s spread across his waist. He was delicate, Breakdown knew. It appeared now that that wasn’t limited to just physically. Breakdown held great respect for the medic he worked for, and with Breakdown, respect equated to loyalty.

 

Part of Breakdown knew that his loyalty to Knock Out ran deeper than his loyalty to Megatron. But when one was threatened, he would lash out at anyone. He knew his behavior toward Knock Out was inexcusable and childish, but he had felt the loss of his beloved leader for too long.

 

_(Breakdown was like a dog, loyal to two masters. One held his leash, the other had collared him in the first place. Who was in what position was something Breakdown didn’t want to focus on – because he was afraid the truth clashed with his carefully constructed reality.)_

The bruiser found sleep in a few moments more, restless spark matching in tandem with the mech next to him.


	2. Extracurriculars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on what happened during the acquirement of the lens. The first underlined quote is from Episode 36 of Welcome To Night Vale, during the traffic section. You can read it here: http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com/post/68662538912/episode-36-missing
> 
> And the second underlined quote is from Season 3, Episode 14 "Witch Hunt" of Once Upon A Time. You can watch the scene here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSWXJUvzbrI

The dull murmuring woke the medic. An all too familiar voice was thankfully muted through the door Knock Out shared with the medbay. Starscream was inside, alone, with Megatron’s body.

 

Not good.

 

Knock Out stood off his berth, his optics blearily focusing on the room around him. He had only gotten a few joors worth of rest, a pathetic amount, but he could continue functioning for now.

 

(He pretended not to notice Breakdown on his own berth, optics closed, body relaxed for the first time in a few days. But he took comfort in his presence regardless.)

 

Standing, he slipped out of the berthroom, keeping care to leave Breakdown as silently as the bruiser had, apparently, entered. He didn’t want conflict with the mech he was already feuding with. The halls were empty at this end of the ship, the lights above pale and dull. There always seemed to be a storm in the atmosphere surrounding the ship, lightning and thunder to complete the ominous appearance.

 

The medbay was tucked out of the way in the ship, Knock Out supposed. But the drones sure knew their way to its doors.

 

(In a faction full of drones and inactive leaders, who needed a doctor? It was why Knock Out had gotten months of freedom on this little rock. He sighed inwardly – freedom, it seemed, was a thing of the past.)

 

But just because no physical mechs were there didn’t mean that there wasn’t _someone_.

* * *

 

_Indeed, a few yards off, a satellite stood. Always circling his puppet, always monitoring the strings – he didn’t care who jerked about the arms and legs, but the mind was a precious string to hold._

 

_And it wasn’t within his grasp. A click of thin fingers against thigh plating, then a delicate turn of frame; Soundwave was on the move._

 

_He knew all he needed to._

* * *

 

The Aston Martin makes it to the hallway medbay doors – maybe he could appear as if he were coming from another part of the ship to investigate, as opposed to his personal quarters. Instead, he witnessed the most pathetic display of leadership he had ever seen.

 

Starscream gloating over a veritable _corpse._ Knock Out let it continue for a few moments more, leaning against the very doorway he had locked in a blind panic not three joors prior.

 

“Not even the mighty Megatron could have conceived it?” he purrs, raising an optic ridge as he watches Starscream try to cover for his actions. The voices laughed within his head and spark, but the medicine was enough to keep them from coming back out. However the medicine also made Knock Out a little…complacent. He supposed he went overboard with the pleasantries, but at least it saved his finish and his sanity.

 

With that particular bit over, Knock Out sauntered into the medbay, checking over data pads with a flick of the optic. “So, _Lord_ Starscream,” he begins, placing emphasis on the “Lord”. “What brings you to my little corner of the ship? It’s not as if Megatron will be making a comeback anytime soon, what with his processor virtually nonexistent.”

 

“I need some…footwork done,” the seeker replies, watching Knock Out with his hands laced together behind his back. “Some drones have uncovered an ND7 class Energon deposit in the geographical range called the Arctic. The difficulty lies in extracting it from beneath the ice and snow.”

 

The thin mech circles the medic, wings twitching slightly in the near claustrophobic place. (A seeker without a view of the sky was a testy seeker – and Knock Out knew Starscream’s temper was fragile at best.)

 

“We’d need a lens powerful enough to guide our heat ray-”

 

“We actually have one of those?” Knock Out scoffs, before quickly recovering. “Con-continue, Lord Starscream.”

 

Starscream huffs and raises an optic ridge as he stops circling, now directly behind Knock Out. Like their first day on the bridge, two big cats circling to size the other up, Knock Out never let his back face Starscream.

 

_Just a sign of how vain he is,_ Starscream supposed. _Can’t allow anybot to see his bad side._

 

_Can’t be ambushed, can’t be backed into a corner, don’t let him in, don’t let him in, hide hide hide hide hide, keep him out out out **away**_. Knock Out’s thoughts were not so organized.

 

“Yes, we have one of those,” Starscream drawls. “We need a lens powerful enough to guide it. The humans have a space telescope with one that should be big enough for our needs. It’s located on an island at 22.0833° N, 159.5000° W. The name of the telescope is the Heuck Nigoghossian Telescope.” The mech blinks, as if checking to make sure he had said it correctly. “…strange name, but that is correct. Get the primary lens.”

 

Knock Out turns around completely now, facing the now leader of the Decepticons with an incredulous gaze. “Surely a drone team would be the best for…for mere _extraction_ work? Why should I -?”

 

All Starscream has to do is crook his fingers, the sound like knives and swords sliding against armor.

 

“…well said, my Lord. I’ll get right on it.”

 

“And don’t forget Breakdown,” Starscream adds, just as Knock Out begins to walk back out the main door of the medbay. “Can’t have _him_ around without someone holding the leash, now can we?”

 

Knock Out bristled at the comment, but silently stalks away. He knew Starscream was correct, however, in his fears. Breakdown –

 

– a mech without a guiding force to tell him no, some bare medical knowledge, and drive, so much _drive_ and _passion_ ,to fix something many times broken –

 

would be the ultimate threat for Starscream. Especially since Soundwave knew of the three other key mechs left on board Breakdown was the most loyal, there was no reason the satellite would bother trying to thwart him. If anything, he may attempt an assist.

 

Knock Out was a picky mech. His finish came first and foremost, but soon after were all his possessions. Breakdown – _his_ assistant – and the medbay – _his_ domain – would not be tampered with, if he could help it. Retracting Breakdown from the ship would be for the best, for everyone.

 

If only he could figure out how to ask the mech.

 

He arrives in his own quarters after a short walk, seeing no one in the halls and thanking Primus for the small gift. The CMO opens the doors, only to find Breakdown still asleep.

 

_Should I wake him like we always do? Or should I attempt to apologize –_ Knock Out scowled and turned to his shelves, picking through medical tools that could also be used as weapons.

 

(He never apologized first, not if he could help it. He had enough sorrows in his life; he didn’t need to become a groveling mech at the servos of his partner.)

 

He had on him his drill, buzz saw, his electric prod, his standard lasers, a few explosives, and a body guard, once Breakdown awoke.

 

He opens his subspace compartment on his thigh, pulling out his prod and stuffing potential explosives inside. _The finishing touch, just enough to sink that island of theirs._ Of course he wouldn’t do that – they could need the resources later on.

 

A delicate, slim finger traced over the tip of the prod, feeling the electricity thrumming within the metal. Alive, wild, and untamed, just like the energy within the racer. The very energy that demanded he drive and just keep driving, act impulsively, and save his own finish.

 

In a sudden burst of anger, he gripped the staff with a firm servo and jabbed Breakdown in the hip with the non-electric end. The sharp crash of metal against metal made Knock Out smirk. He was in control here.

* * *

 

Breakdown growled as he awoke, one servo transformed into his hammer as he sat up, instantly alert. Upon seeing his smirking partner, the bruiser snorted and returned his servo to normal, rolling onto his side. “Can I help you?” he mutters, clearly not expecting an answer.

 

“Yes, you can,” Knock Out bites back, walking over to Breakdown’s berth. He stands behind him, electric prod standing at his side.

 

_A king and his staff._

 

“Lord Starscream’s sent us out on another mission, to a waterlogged place called Kauai, Hawaii. We need something from their naval observatory,” Knock Out explains, now cocking a hip.

 

Breakdown grunts and stands off his berth, tapping the bottom button to keep it locked in the upright position. He didn’t care what Starscream ordered, the second he was back on board he was recharging. “So…when do we leave?” he asked, yawning and turning to Knock Out with an unimpressed expression, though there was no malice.

 

_(How could a beast hate the master he craved? Someone had to hold him, had to guide him, had to control him, or else he would be lost._

 

_ [T _ _here’s never not something that, when feeling pressed to the wall_

_to a place with no room left to run_

_gathers its numbers, gathers its forces, and turns_

_savagely_

_on its oppressor._

_Turns viciously, and without inhibition, even on those who merely_ look _like its oppressor.] )  
_

 

Breakdown is not one of those things. He had two guiding forces, but only one oppressor.

 

“Now.” Knock Out turned toward the door leading to the hallway, tucking his electric prod away. Oddly enough, the voices were quiet as Knock Out turned his back to Breakdown. He followed obediently, his heavy pedsteps matching the medic’s in tempo only.

 

The duo made their way to the bridge, where Soundwave would give them a ground bridge to their coordinates. The large, imposing space was empty, save for a dark whisper standing by the control panel.

 

“I’m assuming he’s told you where we’re going,” Knock Out mutters, knowing full well Soundwave could hear. Breakdown fell silent as they entered, letting the more vocal of the two speak.

 

Soundwave nods

 

_a shiver runs through the medic, for how could a mute mech say so much_

 

and keys in the coordinates. A green flash appears, before the white and teal vortex swirls like a live fire. Knock Out transforms, Breakdown dutifully following, and the duo drive through the ground bridge.

* * *

 

Immediately, Knock Out was annoyed. The bridge had dropped them off not at a main road, as per usual, nor even on compact sand and dirt, like what was common in Jasper. It wasn’t even a forest.

 

They were dropped off on loose, fluffy sand.

 

Breakdown’s tires made short work of it, driving easily along the deserted beach. Many humans were on the other side of the island, as this particular stretch of beach was under the protection of the naval research facility.

 

The sleek Aston Martin, however, was not designed for off-roading. He transformed, stood, and walked, while Breakdown remained in vehicle mode, driving on the upper beach, away from the water to his west.

 

The ocean was a dark blue, glittering like a dragon’s heaving scales in the sunlight. Not a single cloud existed in this world of whites, blues, and greens. Palm trees swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze, trembling up and down with each of Knock Out’s steps.

 

(He wasn’t heavy to his own kind, but to this delicate, small world, he was gigantic. An ancient race of metal and electricity, fueled by stardust and the blood of gods, dwarfed this pitiful experiment of a planet.)

 

The waves were tame this time of day, as lazy as the fleshlings sizzling in the sun a few kilometers over. The hot granules of sand dug into Knock Out’s wheels, and the racer growled in anger. He would spend more time than he usually did cleaning up post-mission. He could feel it.

 

Quite literally, as the little pebbles, wet and dry, clung to the underside of his plating. “This is barbaric,” he mutters, abruptly stopping. Breakdown does as well, transforming to stand next to his partner. His massive size provided some break from the sun, and while Knock Out couldn’t get tan like the organics could, he could appreciate the warmth in contrast to the space-void cold of the _Nemesis._

 

“Did Starscream tell you why he sent us? Extra security, something needing your brains?” Breakdown asks, his digits twitching at his sides. He didn’t like all this waiting.

 

(All this waiting meaning the ten minutes they had been there.)

 

Knock Out bites his glossa and shakes his head. “No, he didn’t. But attacking in broad daylight isn’t our best option.”

 

“Wh-why? We go in, smash some scrap, get the lens, and get back,” Breakdown argues, turning to face Knock Out. “What’s the need for secrecy?”

 

“Because at night, less humans will be here, and less of their bodily fluids will stain me,” Knock Out replies, turning around and heading back. The observatory sat on a mountain, inland. They would need to drive quite a while to get close enough, and Knock Out could tell that it would be better if they found somewhere to crash for the time being. “Look; you’ll get to smash later, alright? I promise. But for now, we drive inland, find an abandoned lot or whatever, and sleep. I’m still tired, you _clearly_ are, and it’s more time away from _Lord_ Starscream.”

 

Breakdown grunted in agreement, turning and walking a few steps, before transforming and idling, waiting for his partner. What Knock Out had said was true, and Breakdown didn’t feel like listening to the medic whine about blood shed one more time. The emphasis placed on “lord” however reminded Breakdown of just how angry he still was over their original fight.

 

And still, he waited for Knock Out.

* * *

 

It had taken them a few moments to drive – Knock Out refused to transform until he saw road, and even then continued to grumble inwardly since he couldn’t complain to Breakdown without alerting to passersby that he was no normal car – but the journey to find their hiding space wasn’t all that long. There was a parking garage for a hotel, and separate parking by the beach. Most of the humans, it appeared, either hadn’t brought cars or were using them elsewhere on the island, because there were plenty of parking spaces to be found. Naturally, Knock Out had taken one the farthest from any damage to his finish – not outside, due to birds and sand, and not by glass windows, because of faded paint. He found a nice dark, dry parking spot in the corner of the garage’s bottom level. (He wasn’t even sure it was supposed to be used.)

 

Breakdown had parked across from him, and both of them killed their engines. Sleeping in alt mode wasn’t a comfortable endeavor, but they would do what they had to do to avoid being recalled.

 

It was sundown now. The sky bled bright reds and golds, with some pinks toward the top. Now clouds floated in, gliding on the warm winds from the south. Knock Out had sent a notification to Soundwave, telling him to expect them back in a joor’s time. That meant they had to get going.

 

The hard part was waking Breakdown. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they were alone in the garage, but an overflow of visitors arriving meant they were loitering around in the lower level, right near Breakdown and Knock Out.

 

(Though he loved the compliments the fleshlings bestowed upon his alt mode, he did loathe the fact that he wouldn’t be able to simply _tell_ Breakdown to get up. Their personal frequency was unusable, since Breakdown still had it closed, and the last thing Knock Out wanted was Soundwave eavesdropping on his conversations with his partner.)

 

When there were only a few humans around – really, would they ever leave? – Knock Out opened one of his doors and slammed it shut, hoping the sound would either wake Breakdown or set the stage for his next action.

 

Breakdown didn’t stir. Knock Out was gonna stab his assistant.

 

He starts his engine, revving it unnecessarily. Breakdown still didn’t wake up. Human females escorted their smaller counterparts away from the car, and Knock Out could have stood up and started swearing. _Wake up you fragger, I swear I’ll make **you** do the repairs this time._

 

There really was only one option left, and Knock Out sighed inwardly. At least Cybertronian dermal plating was thicker and stronger than standard Earthling metal. Knock Out steeled his reserve, and gunned it forward; crashing right into Breakdown’s grill.

 

There was no shattered glass, no dented metal – but Breakdown woke up with a flash of lights, an angry growl of his engine, and an inelegant honk of his horn.

 

There was a hiss of static and for the first time in weeks, Breakdown opened up their private comm. frequency. //What the frag, Knock Out?!//

 

Knock Out could have laughed. Instead, the smug medic backed out and peeled out of there, tires screeching on the asphalt. //Time to move,// Knock Out replies, smug as he drove.

 

Breakdown followed, engine growling in anger. //You just _drove into me_.//

 

//Well _someone_ refused to get up. Now we need to get moving – it’s a few miles and not too easy on the engine,// he replies, coming to a stop at the red light. Breakdown huffs and stays silent, just sitting behind his partner.

 

The link stays open. The medic smiles. The voices purr.

 

_Not always were these creatures angry in demeanor, more like subservient souls who, from time to time, agreed with the medic. Fickle creatures and on their own, separate, sentient level._

 

The drive up to the mountain was quiet, but it always was like that before a strike. The closer to the mark the duo went the more inward their focus became. All talking was done before they arrived, and once they crept close to the naval base, they transformed and hid among palm trees.

 

Now the stars were out, the hot air having wandered off to go bother some other island. Some clouds scattered about, puffs of grey amid a navy and pearl sky. The medic crouched, looking through the windows at the relatively few humans inside the building. The telescope was easy to spot – jutting out from the white circular building surrounded by cement walls.

 

//Missile to south side. Drive around north, and take ‘em out,// Knock Out orders, his lilting voice filling the link.

 

(A snake, a dancer, an oil-slicked creature, igniting the fire within the frontliner, burning his spark brighter, higher, _hotter_ -

 

_promised bloodlust is excellent bloodlust is my bloodlust is_ his _bloodlust_

 

a manic wolf howls at the moon, finally unleashed.)

 

//Roger that.// Two short words, and then he was off. Breakdown slunk away, and Knock Out sat back, waiting for his partner to begin the siege.

* * *

 

He jumped up onto the platform where the offices were, shooting a missile at the observatory while he smashed his hammer through the building. Concrete and glass went flying everywhere, while the humans began their screams.

 

Breakdown laughs, victorious, and fires another missile at the offices. The two fires and explosions would take care of most of the organics.

 

He sees a flash of red among his smashing, but the bloodlust and glee is too much for him to really notice. Oil and blood alike drips from his hammers – he would clean them later – and he laughs again as he flat out punches a building. It caves in easily, collapsing in and pinning people and cars in the garage beneath it.

 

Helicopters being circling, and Breakdown ducks behind wreckage, shooting them down in a plume of smoke and dying engines. He hears sirens, irritating, high pitched things

 

(as if that would help the dead and dying, oh so _futile_ their measures were)

 

and he dispatches a few boulders to do the job for him. He could have gone all night – this was an island, they were running out of resources for help – but Knock Out spoiled his fun.

 

//Time to go, you brute. I got the lens. Let’s get going – this place is rigged to blow.// The sound of joints clicking into place marked the transformation sequence of his partner

 

handler

 

_owner_

 

and Breakdown dutifully follows.

 

( _Panting, that wolf licks his muzzle, tasting blood and hot copper. He howls at his god, claws at his earth, and marks his territory with a savage bite. He had been here, this was_ his _now. He cried out in joy, exhausted and spent, body falling to the wayside. All the while, he growled.)_

* * *

 

They arrived back on the _Nemesis_ with no fuss, and Knock Out bestows the lens to Starscream with a flourished bow. Breakdown stands behind his partner, his optic ridges narrowed, a smirk on his faceplates. Those golden orbs glowed brightly in russet plating

 

_he could feel their blood, hot and thick, in his servos, reminding him of murders past_

 

and he found himself not listening to Starscream’s conversation with the medic.

 

Knock Out, meanwhile, hands over the large glass disk to the gloating seeker. “Here you are, Lord Starscream – as promised. The Heuck Nigoghossian’s primary lens.”

 

Starscream practically purrs, taking the lens with long, delicate fingers. “I see you learned your lesson – the mission was carried out with success, without your… _petty_ distractions.” He flicks his fingers at Knock Out, who jerks backwards with a shudder and gasp.

 

The voices were no longer complacent.

 

Knock Out nodded, suddenly feeling dizzy. Maybe it was the heat to the cold adjustment? Maybe it was the seeker –

 

_Of course it’s Starscream, why would it be anyone else, there is no reason for it to be anyone else –_

 

Starscream was still talking. “…and I do suppose, _this_ time, I can let you get back to your own business. Dismissed.”

 

Knock Out nods along, before realizing he had been dismissed. Starscream raised an optic ridge as the medic didn’t move, but Knock Out didn’t offer an explanation – he merely took his leave with a bow.

 

_Was it deeper than necessary? Why is it so cold in here?_

 

Breakdown followed with an obedient grunt and a very shallow bow. He stepped after his medic, keeping his distance with his stained servos. A shower would be good for him, after all. They didn’t perspire like humans did, but he was covered in their bodily fluids, and his roommate would have words to say to him if he didn’t clean up.

 

The washracks weren’t attached to their berthroom, instead they had their own officer level washracks a few doors down. Starscream, Breakdown, Knock Out, and Soundwave all used them.

 

(Megatron had his own washracks in his quarters, but then again, the warlord only looked this good when he was passed out on a medberth. Vanity had never been an attribute easily associated with the former gladiator.)

 

Breakdown walked in and immediately found the largest stall, allowing him to spread himself in any manner he so chose. He transforms his hammer out to rinse off in the hot solvent, optics catching Knock Out standing in the door way. The warm steam filled the room, first at their ankles, then moving up and up until it covered their hips as well. “Knock Out, you gonna wash off?” the bruiser asked, mildly concerned at his partner’s lack of moving. Normally he had to fight Knock Out for any kind of washing, as the medic took the longest.

 

“Oh…yeah, sure.” His voice was dull, monotone, and his optics seemed to stare off, as if he were there only physically.

 

_Was this what it was like to be a whisper, like Soundwave? The shadows, the shadows, all those shadows, so dark, oh so dark – I’m cold._

 

The medic slowly, stiffly, walks to a wash rack and turns on the solvent. He stands under it for a bit, just letting it warm his plating. It pools in the metal bottom, swirling down the drain, and when Knock Out shifts his weight to his other ped he remembers the sand. Lifting one ped, he grabs a terry cloth and rubs it against his metal, scraping off the organic nuisance.

 

Breakdown frowned, but finished his own chassis. Just because Knock Out seemed unresponsive and a bit preoccupied doesn’t mean that everything isn’t fine. And besides, what did he owe the racer? Nothing at all, that’s what. He was fine to be alone.

 

The bruiser walked out of his stall, turning off the solvent and walking to the drying rack. Knock Out still seemed out of it; unresponsive expressions and an airy expression on his face plate.

 

//Breakdown, I request your presence on the bridge. The lens must be constructed, and we have limited time.// Breakdown groaned, his hands clenching into fists. Why was he being called?! He was an ex-wrecker for Primus’ sake, why did they need him for mere construction of a ray? And wasn’t it already constructed?

 

Sensing a trap, Breakdown ignored it, and instead walked back to his quarters. He needed recharge – let Knock Out deal with the problem.

* * *

 

In the same room, Knock Out stood, repetitively cleaning his metal. He was spotless by this time, but a combination of his own vanity and his current flat state put his physical motions on the back burner. Over and over again, his hand washed and cleaned the metal, his optics watching nothing at all.

 

_ Y _ _ou feed the madness and it feeds on you…you feed the madness and it feeds on you…_

 

He found himself letting his CPU wander

 

_between the alleys of clubs and libraries_

 

_beneath the shadow of mechs twice, thrice, four times his size_

 

_around areas he had always been told to avoid as a sparkling, and now they were his home_

 

until a prod came from the voices only he could hear.

 

**_Knock Out…duty calls._** The shadow mech from before was back, but the lights remained the same. There was no fog, only the mech, a flicker in the corner of his optic and suddenly right in front of him.

 

Even in the light, he looked lit from the darkness. There were no plating lines, nothing to indicate that this mech was Cybertronian. But the shoulder’s were too smooth and sloped to be an organics, and those optics were too distantly familar to be anything but optics.

 

But something was different now.

 

He was fainter, as if a shadow of a shadow – Knock Out could see through him, to the other side of the shadows. “What do you want from me?” he murmurs, aloud this time, his voice still monotone and more than a bit empty.

 

**_Duty calls, Knock Out. Or, rather, Starscream calls. Breakdown wasn’t doing his duty, and now you have to pay the price. It seems the wheel is on the other axel now, yes? Normally you’re the one slacking off, preening and dancing around your role as medic, and Breakdown has to pick up the slack. Perhaps he’s finally learned better?_ **

 

The shadow mech leaned forward, hissing with no mouth, optics furrowed beneath invisible optic ridges. Knock Out smelled hot metal, wet and burning, if it were possible to be both at the same time. “L-leave,” he stammered, backing away from the shadow creature.

 

The medic turned off the spray, not even stopping to dry himself as he left the washracks, speed walking down the hall.

 

(In every bend in the wall, behind every fold in the ribcages of the _Nemesis,_ the shadow mech followed. Sometimes just a pair of optics, other times a clawed servo reaching forward. He wove through drones like they were nothing, his breath hot and somehow more tangible than the body it came from.)

 

He was just about to open the medbay doors when he nearly ran smack into his partner’s chest. Optics furrowed, he clenched his servos into fists, a snarl pulling at pearl faceplates. “Just where have you been?” he snapped, suddenly back to his normal, vain self. “Starscream has been clogging up my comms because he apparently is too inept to simply place the lens on the ray. Now come along, we have work to do. If the sudden burst of cold around here is any indication, we’re in that blasted Arctic place now.”

 

Breakdown blinked, affronted with the sudden anger in his partner. Sighing, he reached forward and pulled Knock Out a little bit closer to him, shielding their conversation from the rest of the hallway. “We need to talk, Knock Out,” he says, checking the hallway for mecha before turning around to face the irate medic. “I’m still pissed about what you said earlier, but I’m sorry for overreacting. You know…well, yanno me. I know you don’t like Starscream on principle, but seeing as he’s the only one taking a vocal role of the Decepticons, I have no choice but to listen.”

 

Knock Out cocks a hip, listening to Breakdown’s apology. Then he smiles, realizing he got his way. (He always did, when it came to the bruiser.) “I’m glad you see things my way, Breakdown. Now, in case you’ve forgotten, we have a seeker we have to please. So come along, assistant – we have work to do.” He beckons Breakdown forward as he begins walking out of the medbay and down the halls to the top of the ship.

 

This would be an easy conquest. Easy energon, minimal energy, a chance to show off his newfound SIC leadership position under Starscream; this couldn’t be that hard, could it?

 

_Apparently,_ Knock Out would think hours later, after being beaten by the Autobots and having to defrost Breakdown. _It could be that hard._


	3. Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's part of the joy of being a submissive. None of the decisions are yours. When you can't refuse anything and can't even move, those voices in your head go silent. All you can do, and all you are permitted to do, is feel." --Cherise Sinclair, _Dark Citadel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for such a late posting of this chapter, but now that school is officially done, I can begin writing semi-regularly. Looking for summer jobs and all that means that some of this will have to be put on hold.
> 
> A bit of a shorter chapter this time, but this also marks one of the major shifts from canon that shall take place in this fic. I hope you like my take on Knock Out's past.

Lord Megatron was not online, but the way Soundwave was acting made it seem like he was. Since the botched attempt to get energon from the Arctic, the TIC had ignored both Starscream and Knock Out alike.

 

As far as Knock Out was concerned, it was for the best. His pride had taken a hearty blow after that failed attempt, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until Starscream took it out on him.

 

(How was it his fault if Starscream’s plan had gone awry? Didn’t matter to the seeker, though – do unto others as others do to you, and all that.)

 

The medic turned around, surveying the area one more time, before returning to his walk. Racing helped to clear his thoughts into a pleasant nothing, a fuzzy warm white void that he now craved. But walking through this thick aired planet helped him to organize those thoughts.

 

He had been sure to take his medicine before he left the ship.

 

Breakdown was fine after the Arctic fight, if not stiff and dented in a few places. Why his partner felt the need to throw himself off of high places without regard for how hard of a landing he would make, Knock Out would never know.

 

He ducked under a branch, his claws surprisingly gentle on the mossy bark. He wasn’t here to destroy – he was here to think. And hide, if he was being honest with himself.

 

Starscream couldn’t fly through foliage this thick, and he would never assume Knock Out to be in a place with so many options for damage to his paint. The medic was virtually alone, and safe.

 

Settling down at the base of a large Redwood, the medic simply…was. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t care. About the war, about Megatron, about Starscream; about any of it.

 

_Could it be the drugs?_ he wondered, his fingers digging into the dirt below him. It was disgusting, and he quickly found the roots of the tree he was leaning against. He didn’t bother with his usual route of destruction; even malicious medics grew tired.

 

As his optics closed, he propped his ped up on a fallen tree, the other dangling into a hollow in the ground nearby. The ground was soft with the quality of alien planets, dead animals and rotting plants.

 

He tried not to think of it that way.

 

But it was much nicer than the berth waiting in his quarters up on the ship, in close proximity to everything he hated. And things that confused him.

 

(Then again, he hated what confused him, so what did it matter what words he used?)

 

Birds of prey circled above, higher than even Megatron could reach while standing. Here, grounded with tires and a desire for flashy paint jobs, Knock Out felt no jealousy. He never wanted to fly.

 

At one point, however…he could.

* * *

_“Hubris, get your aft over here – we have seven more mechs to please and you’re in high demand!” The voice had dropped lowly, a hint of jealousy and greed showing in between the words._

_Hubris looked up, optics bleary as he looked at the forever orange light of Kaon. His room was trashed, transfluid still coating his thighs from his call earlier. Silver transfluid on white thighs and black pelvic plating was a normal sight for the small aerial. His delicate servos – also white – pushed him unsteadily to his peds._

_A hot breeze, thick with iron and rust, blew in through the greasy, barred window. It wasn’t even a true window, more of a hole in the wall that had resulted in a dead pleasure bot and an angry patron._

_(Since then, heavyset customers were directed to their own rooms – soundproof and with thicker, more durable metal. No thought was given to the mechs and femmes they took with them.)_

_“HUBRIS.” The door slid open, revealing his angry boss on the other side. Smooth purple plating accented with tan shoulders and lower leg plating, and a clear, markless frame stood in the doorway. He carried a bronze staff in one hand, red and blue pointed crystals creating a near claw-like top, but when looked at from above, resembled a rose. Pupils vertical slits, saturated purple optics, and a flawless shine._

_“We have **customers** waiting, and not a moment to lose.” He reached in with his thickly jeweled staff, decorated from the crystals from the garden of Praxus._

_(Hubris had heard that the skies there were always the loveliest pinks and blues, and the very air was kind and had a… **sweet** quality to it. It was amazing what customers would talk about, the ones that rented him for a night and took him around. It was the only sense of freedom he had.)_

_In his daydream, Hubris missed the swing of the crystal club into his side, right along his hip. No damage could be done to his face; that was what patrons looked for the most. And heaven help Swindle if he damaged his wings._

_It was still talked about how fast he had incapacitated the guard who touched his wings to push him faster into his room._

_It was also still talked about how badly of a beating he had received afterwards._

_Wings were sensitive and a sense of pride for any aerial. Only patrons got to touch them, and even that was at the threat of another night in Swindle’s room._

_(He had, unwittingly, been the start of a new practice. They couldn’t beat submission into him – but they could program it. The line between test subject and sentient being did not exist in these slums.)_

* * *

He hadn’t thought of that in solar cycles, mostly because of his time afterwards spent in a drug induced haze. Well, once he had been found. Of that, he remembered nothing.

 

He mostly remembered bits and pieces of it. No dialogue, nothing too specific. But the rest of his senses remembered.

 

There was the first time he had smelled sterilized surfaces. The first gentle touch he felt against his frame.

 

The first time he felt no pain.

* * *

_He made it all the way to the end of the hallway before the nurses realized something was wrong. The main security guard, a mech named Lockdown, kept Swindle from entering the hallway. Meanwhile, Swindle was arguing with the head doctor, Scalpel._

_Hubris was lucky his boss was so distracted. Swindle wouldn’t lose his best piece of property, not if he had his way._

_He ran, transforming for the first time in his memory, and flew. Above and beyond the rust covered city of Kaon, into the light of Iacon, the Autobot capital on Cybertron._

_When he landed, he was overwhelmed by the brightness and gentle intellectual power the city seemed to radiate. In Kaon, if you weren’t strong, you weren’t worth anything. He was a thin, gentle mech; and wanted. In a matter of time, Swindle would be pulling on his contacts in various cities to bring his star home._

_(No politicians, even the ones that were in Iacon, could be as pure as their plating showed.)_

_Hubris found a body artist willing to help such a pitiful creature, regardless of the lack of credits. “Shame you want to change such a gorgeous frame, but it’s a personal decision,” the mech had muttered as he putzed around his shop._

_A flyer stuck out like a sore thumb in Iacon, Hubris realized, and he needed an escape._

_“Ground me.”_

* * *

Knock Out sighed and opened his optics, looking down at his inner left thigh. Four glyphs were branded there, a rather sensitive spot. They were raised off his metal, just enough that he could feel them when he ran his fingers over the smooth metal. They didn’t show when he was transformed, but years of fighting in the war had left them thin.

 

_This too shall pass._

A simple message, given as a final warning from that kind body artist unto the new mech he had created. Knock Out kept only one physical thing from his cycles as a pleasure bot – his optics. He couldn’t bear to part from them. Not the optics themselves, but the glass over them. The colors.

 

His design.

 

He grunts as he stands, dead plant matter falling from the metal where it had once clung. Humans would compare his glyphs to a tattoo, but an unfinished one at that. Line art, if anything. The bare basics of what he could have been, of what he could have had.

* * *

Breakdown dropped the body of the drone he had been using for release. There was no love in his actions, no dedication. Those around him thought the fragging was nothing too out of the ordinary; often times the officers would come down and use them for whatever they thought necessary.

 

(A couple of drones, namely ST3V3 and R1CK had been the unofficial designated caregivers for the aftermath of such events. They offered an audio, some basic medical treatment, a few cubes of energon, and the reassurance that they were not just useless drones, but had just as much spark as the officers that used them.

 

Breakdown was kind though, and different. At least he treated them like mechs, for the most part. He had quite a few friends within the drones ranks, but he actively avoided fragging them. He didn’t want to complicate their friendship in that way.

 

They may have been Decepticons, but even they had their limits.)

 

Breakdown never used his valve for these affairs. He didn’t feel like he could be able to. His own words came back to haunt him as he stood up from the other mech, who was still panting on the berth.

 

_I only listen to two Decepticons._

Knock Out and Lord Megatron would be the only ones he gave himself to in that way. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was more of a valve mech, rather than his spike, but that wasn’t something he felt comfortable just throwing around. He was no pleasure mech, he was a medical assistant –

 

who had been on his own for too long, no one to hold the leash and pet him and tell him he was doing well.

 

//Knock Out…Starscream’s been looking for you again.// Not a stretch from the truth. Already, his mind was far away from the drones he was leaving behind, as he walked back to the medbay.

 

_(To the region where his Master lay, and where his master lived.)_

He walked into the large operating room, taking in his Lord’s plight. Ever since the Autobots had arrived since that fateful day in the Arctic, Megatron had been on the rise. Breakdown had been hopeful that his Master would return to full health rapidly, but it wasn’t in the cards.

 

It had been a megacycle since the attack. Nothing was changing.

 

Distressed, Breakdown backed away from the veritable corpse. The washracks would have been a better idea, he thought. He should have gotten clean when he was en route to the medbay. What would Knock Out think when he returned?

 

//Breakdown, tell that oversized paperclip to buzz off. I’m busy enjoying a break.// Even irate and irritated, the medic calmed the bruiser. Knock Out’s voice easily soothed the frayed circuits and rapidly beating spark deep within Breakdown’s chassis.

 

//Can’t, boss. He wants ya back.// Lies; it was Breakdown who needed him back.

 

The bruiser could feel Knock Out’s resigned sigh, before the tell-tale transformation sequence was sent over the private link. //I’ll be back in a moment. Have a groundbridge ready for me, there’s no way in the Pit that I’m taking that glorified elevator up to the ship.//

 

Shame bloomed with sickly yellow, twisted petals in the back of Breakdown’s CPU. This was what he wanted, yes, but he didn’t want to have Knock Out see him in such a state. Transfluid under his panel, fingers covered in purple paint, a flushed faceplate; he knew he was a mess.

 

//Y-yeah, boss.// He sent a quick burst of data to Soundwave, instructing him to open a groundbridge when Knock Out asked for one. Meanwhile, he ducked into the washracks, intent on washing away his shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown is so good for his master, isn't he?
> 
> Tattoo inspiration from Danny Schmidt's song, _This Too Shall Pass_.


	4. Shared Midnight Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown finally gets what he's been pining after this whole time; Knock Out finds something better than medicine, and just as addicting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long, but here - have a new chapter that's 15 pages long and a labor of my efforts. A little bit of fluff to break up the angst train.

Knock Out arrived on ship a few cycles later, ignoring Starscream’s grating calls and heading straight for the medbay. Breakdown had just finished his wash, and the medic wanted to get his own in. The dirt from the world below clung to his plating, despite how much he had driven to get rid of the blasted substances.

 

He would have gone straight into the washracks had Breakdown not crossed his path.

 

The two stared at each other, each uncertain what to do. Knock Out was still a bit drowsy from his medicine, and his recent trip down memory lane had shaken him. Breakdown was elated to see his handler again, but didn’t express it visually.

 

The moment hung between the two of them, a pregnant silence, until Breakdown slowly continued on his journey to his berth. Tired from the washing – and the fragging – the bruiser had wanted nothing more than to curl up and find peace of mind in recharge.

 

At least, until Knock Out came back.

 

(He had to stop himself from thinking of it as ‘home’. The _Nemesis_ wasn’t home – it was a place of employment. There was no comforts here, nothing that he would want to take with him to the next life –

 

Except for the medic who currently walked to the washracks, slowly and tiredly, as if his break had proved more stressful than a work cycle.)

 

Constellations spun outside the ship, the stars little light filled dew drops in the black sky. Knock Out didn’t waste too much time washing himself; it was more of a rinse than anything else.

 

The two of them continued their silence long after the other mech returned to his side of the room. The red medic slid into his berth, curled up on his side and closing his optics for a few moments of silence and peace.

 

Starscream kept pinging at Knock Out’s frequency, and the racer was quickly growing tired of it. He sent a simple message back in return – and none too politely – and the messages stopped.

 

He would make good on his threat, too, if Starscream didn’t leave him alone. He was no dummy when it came to Decepticon politics.

 

Soundwave didn’t trust Knock Out as far as he could throw him, but the Aston Martin knew that if Soundwave wanted Megatron back, he’d have to stay in his good graces. He also knew that Breakdown would more than happily launch his efforts into assisting Megatron’s recovery as much as possible.

 

With Breakdown’s expertise and Soundwave’s intel, Megatron could be back on his feet in no time. And when Megatron was back, there was no one to stop Soundwave from letting his lord know just how much scrap had happened while he was incapacitated.

 

Everything from Starscream’s assumption of command, to the block on Knock Out’s medical knowledge, to the failed attempt to gain energon in the Arctic – the list was endless. Starscream would be scrapped the second Megatron emerged from stasis.

 

All in all, nothing was heading in Starscream’s favor. Especially since he relied so heavily on Knock Out’s coroporation – which he would give, if only Starscream would back up and let him have more freedom.

 

So when Knock Out threatened to let it slip to Soundwave that Starscream wouldn’t be on-ship for a few days while he “searched” for more energon, thus the ship would be under the satellites sole command for close to 3 days, Starscream hurried to back down.

 

Just as Knock Out wanted it.

 

With the line finally closed and quiet, Knock Out let his mind wander. Breakdown had apologized and their fight was over, which was good, but Knock Out couldn’t help but feel a little…changed since their encounter.

 

Maybe it was because he had allowed himself to think of Hubris for the first time in nearly twenty vorns, but he felt some kind of misplaced nostalgia for the mech he had once been. Sure, plenty of mechs believed him to be gorgeous, and he used that opportunity every chance he got.

 

But those chances had recently been far and few in between.

 

A little self-doubt nagged at the back of his processor, flaring up again for the first time since Starscream’s derisive comment when he arrived on the _Nemesis._ The scorn that was associated with being a grounder on a predominately flyer faction grated on Knock Out’s nerves.

 

“Breakdown…you awake?” This late in the cycle, it wasn’t unusual to have Breakdown pass out quietly. If he stayed up that late, working on something or being somebody’s assistant – not Knock Out’s, unfortunately – he tended to fall asleep suddenly and silently.

 

Any other night he snored.

 

But a soft grunt from the other mech made Knock Out roll onto his back, looking over at Breakdown with a raised optic ridge. “That a yes?”

 

“Yes,” Breakdown replied, still soft and voice a bit husky, but not enough to suggest he had woken himself simply for Knock Out’s benefit. Even if he had, however, the medic wouldn’t have cared.

 

“Am I pretty to you?”

 

“Of course. You know I think you are.”

 

Simple question and answer, not unusual for the pair. Knock Out knew Breakdown must have assumed it to be some kind of ego booster, and he wasn’t wrong, but it was mostly to keep the low self-esteem at bay.

 

“Prettier than Starscream?”

 

“He’s too thin for me. I’d break him. So yeah, much prettier than Starscream.” Breakdown too rolled onto his back, looking over at Knock Out just as the medic turned his attention to the ceiling above his head. Their berths were close enough that he could reach over and touch the other mech if he so wanted to, but he kept his servos folded over his chest. No sense in pushing the boundaries further.

 

The truth was Breakdown thought Knock Out was much more than a simple, superficial word. He thought of him as hundreds of dozens of simple, superficial words, which combined into a deep, unpronounceable emotion that kept the bruiser up and night and coming back each morning for more.

 

At first it was just a physical longing; to be able to touch and not be punished, drawn to the cherry red finish like a moth to a flame. But then it evolved into something more. Every sarcastic comment, every whine and complaint on Knock Out's behalf drew him in further, until he was suffocating in his own infatuation.

 

While Breakdown wasn't the world’s most intuitive mech, he knew Knock Out like the back of his servo, and for some reason, Knock Out didn't like physical contact of the non-professional kind. He also didn't take well to advances from other mechs and femmes, having more than once declined offers from various Vehicons and other 'Cons when they were back on Kaon.

 

Everybot wanted a chance with the good doctor, and yet the most attractive mech there, probably of _both_ factions, didn't want to be involved with anyone. If anything, keeping his distance was Breakdown's best bet to be rewarded if the slim chance should arrive that Knock Out wanted _more_ than just a professional relationship with his partner. After all, it was that distance that allowed them to be such good friends.

 

Yet with each passing solar cycle, Breakdown's defenses slowly crumbled. And somewhere along the line, when they had arrived on Earth and split away from the main Decepticon forces, their relationship had shifted again once more.

 

Isolation provided an excellent breeding ground for bonds and secrets shared. The years they spent roaming this planet, just the two of them and their few possessions, brought them closer together as partners. And in that time, Breakdown had found himself growing more and more attached to Knock Out.

 

He had an independent streak in him a mile wide, but it took time and effort out of him to use it creatively and independently. Never had Breakdown looked at the infinite possibilities of freedom and thought to use them for more than the bare necessities.

 

Knock Out changed that.

 

By being the brains of the duo, but having an aversion to being damaged in any way, Knock Out had also created a mutually dependent relationship. Neither could function to full capacity without the other.

 

(They were big mechs, they could take care of themselves. But Breakdown was reckless, Knock Out was paranoid, and separation would break the two of them.)

 

And so, eventually, Breakdown and Knock Out had developed an aspect of a pet/handler relationship that kept them bound to each other by more than just friendship. Breakdown the ever faithful pet and Knock Out the ever patient handler.

 

Here they found themselves in a strange time of night, where everything was quiet and still, and hearts bled open to each other.

 

Breakdown hadn’t stopped watching Knock Out, but he hadn’t realized that the medic had drifted off, optics peacefully closed and one servo dangling off of the berth. He sat up a little, doing one last check of the room, before sending a burst of code to turn the lights off.

 

For now, they slept.

* * *

Sometime that night, however, Breakdown outstretched a hand from his own berth, sleeping on his side facing Knock Out. The loose and limp servo brushed Knock Out’s tentatively, as if afraid of rejection. But the thinner counterpart latched onto the scraped and well used servo, trusting it not to crush him.

 

Reverently, Breakdown stroked Knock Out’s servo, all while in the depths of recharge. Neither mech awoke, but for the first time in too long, the nightmares stopped.

* * *

It was the pressure on his servo that eventually woke Knock Out from his recharge, early in the morning, before anyone else was online. Groaning softly, he hoped that he hadn't pinched the sensors in his wrist while sleeping. The sharp, electric pin pricks hurt for a while, shooting up his servo continuously as the connection was re-established, his processor once again reminding him that his servo was still attached.

 

But this pressure was much more pleasurable. It was warm, strong, yet gentle, and had his fingertips lightly brushing the surface of whatever it was that was holding him.

 

He looked over to his left and promptly froze. Surprised, he attempted to withdraw his servo from Breakdown’s grasp, praying the voices didn’t choose that moment to strike, when he was suddenly _yanked_ across the room and towards Breakdown.

 

The bruiser had rolled over and hadn’t let go of Knock Out’s servo, thus dragging the smaller medic over with him. Still completely in recharge, Breakdown tucked Knock Out to his body, humming softly before continuing to sleep.

 

Knock Out wanted to panic, but experience warred with logic.

 

The voices never attacked when Breakdown was around. He still kept his medicine nearby, but being around the bigger mech kept him relatively sane.

 

But Breakdown was significantly larger than him, and if the bigger mech were to wake up and think of a better way to start the morning, Knock Out couldn’t fathom how he would be able to get out of it.

 

**_It’s quite simple. You wouldn’t._ **

****

That’s what the voices would say.

 

He could feel them pressing against the bonds, dangerously close to breaking through, and subconsciously, he shrunk back against Breakdown’s chassis. Coolant tears pooled in his optics as he tried to calm himself. It would do no good to cry when Breakdown could wake at any moment.

 

There was still time before the on duty cycle. He had a few moments to compose himself before leaving; if he could find a way to free himself from Breakdown’s grasp.

 

He may have been protected from the voices, but he wasn’t protected from his own insecurities. _So weak I can’t even get free from my own slagging partner…and he’s asleep. Not even fully online. I’m a grown mech, riddled with issues, and just barely hanging on with my position in Decepticon command. Everything hangs uncertainly on this fragging ship I thought I had escaped, and I need to get out of here, all this physical contact isn’t good. Useless, useless, useless…_

The tears fell anyway.

* * *

Breakdown onlined to a crying Knock Out in his arms. Immediately, he scanned the room for whatever could have made the medic this jumpy. He found nothing, so the next logical step was to blame himself.

 

But how could he be at fault? He had apologized for their fight earlier, hadn’t he? Why would Knock Out be crying over something he had done?

 

“Knock Out…?” he murmured, looking down at the only mech he still had. Megatron was too far gone to really be called upon for support, and his support was never like this.

 

The medic pretended to not hear him, instead stifling his small shuddering cries and feigning recharge.

 

He sighed, trying to bat back the pleased purr that threatened to escape. Not at Knock Out’s crying or visible distress, but at the simple feeling of having the medic pressed to his body. It made him feel… _whole._

 

(Protecting his master with all he had, in his weakest moments. He wanted the ability to be the one to take care of Knock Out just as well as the medic cared for him. Everything…and maybe that was too much to give.)

 

“Knock Out, I know you’re awake. Answer me, please…”

 

No response.

 

“…Fine, I’ll start,” he whispered, dejected now. At least Knock Out had since stopped crying, but he really didn’t know how long that would last. Better take advantage of the silence now.

 

“I know I already said it, but I really am sorry for how I acted earlier. I know you hate Starscream on principle. But…aside from you, Megatron is all I have. Kind of.” He made a so-so motion with his servo, before resting his arm over his side, so Knock Out was no longer trapped in his arms. He took some comfort in the realization that Knock Out didn’t roll away.

 

“And I’m not saying that I need to have you all to myself - ”

 

_Yes, I am._

“But I do want you to know that…I’m not…I’m not really myself without you. A-and you can write this off as…you know, midnight ramblings or whatever…but what I’m about to say is the truth. And if you can’t look at me the same way again, then that’s fine, I guess I’ll just…say it anyway.” He took a steadying breath, before looking down at Knock Out.

 

Sleek, sensual Knock Out was looking back at him. Breakdown sighed, closing his optics as he continued.

 

(It was the late night that had him talking so openly. A few hours in either direction and he wouldn’t be speaking so candidly.)

 

“I…I love you. And I really, _really_ hope I didn’t just frag everything up but there really is no other way for me to say it, so…please, just don’t hate m –” He was cut off with the press of wet, trembling lips against his own.

 

He could tell it was taking everything the medic had not to run away; if anything, he was as shocked as Breakdown was. Gently, gingerly, the bigger mech brought a servo to Knock Out’s helm, cupping his cheek and pulling him closer.

 

He _wanted_ this, and wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. But he wasn’t going to be an insensitive cog-head about it either. This was a big step for Knock Out – and himself – and he wasn’t going to let himself mess up the one good thing he had.

 

Whatever it was.

* * *

Knock Out looked at Breakdown as a safety net. The mech had been someone to fall back on in times good and bad – he was the audience Knock Out wanted and the companion he craved.

 

Somehow, during his dependence on the mech, building up through years and years of work, he had allowed himself to be open with this mech, more so than any other mech or femme he had ever met. Even though he had been exclusive with his trust, he still hadn’t told Breakdown everything

 

_though if the bruiser suspected anything, he never spoke up. A trait Knock Out appreciated._

Knock Out had heard once that love was giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they wouldn’t. He hadn’t been aware that he had given so much to Breakdown until the mech had begun to pull away.

 

He had his first episode of that magnitude – after years of thinking the voices were finally gone, that he had concocted a group of pills that would make everything okay for once – only a week after Breakdown had begun ignoring him. And now, sitting here trembling in the mech’s arms, he found himself cupping the bigger mech’s helm, pulling him closer in the kiss.

 

The old Hubris wanted to pleasure this mech – and he knew how, too. All he needed to was to roll on his back, murmur words of pleasure and awe, stroke his ego a bit, and he’d get the first fragging he’d had in years.

 

But _he_ – Knock Out – didn’t want that. He wanted to take this…whatever it was…slow and steady because this meant more to him than just a casual interface.

 

(Breakdown held the loaded gun to his temple; Knock Out trusted him not to pull the trigger. Never once had his finger moved from the pommel, obeying Knock Out’s orders to the letter, as always.)

 

Pulling back from the impromptu kiss, Knock Out let the warmth of Breakdown’s hopeful gaze warm his spark. Was this love?

 

Not in that shy, light-colors-and-pastels, butterflies-in-the-tanks kind of way. Knock Out had never felt that way at all in his career.

 

_Was this love, though?_

It was…trust. It was as close to love as Knock Out could come, had come in a long time. It was as good as love and just as precious, and if Breakdown truly loved him – truly cared – he would see what he meant when he whispered his next words.

 

“I trust you, Breakdown. And…” He looked into those golden depths, running a thumb over Breakdown’s cheek strut. He pulled the mech into another soft kiss, pressing his upper body closer to Breakdown’s, but leaving his hips and legs a bit farther apart.

 

Breakdown didn’t try to close the distance – Knock Out hesitantly licked at his lower lip.

 

 _And I could give it a try._ It didn’t matter that Knock Out didn’t say the words – they both knew that’s what he meant.

* * *

They kissed through the better part of the morning, Breakdown simply holding Knock Out when the tears came back. He gently ran his servos down Knock Out’s back, letting his engine idle to break up the silence of the room.

 

Somehow they drifted off between quiet sobs and soft kisses, the excitement of openly admitted trust and love fading from their frames.

 

The next morning was awkward. The thin rays of sunlight brushed across the windows on the hull of the ship, golden light shyly curling around the dark grey ship. Knock Out onlined to find Breakdown awake already, sitting upright with a cube of energon in his hand. “For you,” he said softly, offering the cube to the waking medic. “I already finished mine.”

 

Knock Out slowly sat up, taking the cube gently from Breakdown’s servo. “Thank you,” he said softly, accepting the gift. He drank in the silence, watching Breakdown out of the corner of his optic.

 

Breakdown seemed more relaxed than usual, shoulders dropped a little bit and spinal strut less stiff. He leaned a little closer to Knock Out, not enough to be threatening –

 

as if Knock Out could think of him in that way –

 

content just to bask in the racer’s presence.

 

“Listen, Breakdown…” he began softly, once the energon was finished and the silence had continued. “About what I said last night…”

 

All at once the peace vanished from the mech beside him, and he looked more like the bruiser Knock Out had fallen for in the first place. Ready to attack, strong, _brutal;_ to those not holding the chains.

 

 _So this does mean something to him. I was right to trust him…_ Knock Out thought to himself. “I really did mean it,” he continued, watching as Breakdown turned to look at him, caught between relaxing and staying alert in case it was a trap. “And I know you meant what you said too. So…if you don’t mind, I’d like to see if we could…see where it goes?”

 

Breakdown was silent for a moment, before a smile broke over his face. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I don’t mind at all. I never mind when it comes to you, you know that.”

 

Knock Out laughed softly, nodding. “That I do.” He reached behind Breakdown to put his cube on the table, before letting himself flop back down to the berth. He looked up at the massive frame of his partner, inwardly marveling at how little apprehension or discomfort he felt.

 

//Knock Out, I’m going out. You’re in charge until I return.// Starscream’s quick data burst brought a smirk to Knock Out’s faceplates. Clearly the mech still remembered who had the upper hand here.

 

//Of course, Lord Starscream. I shall do my best.// “Starscream’s gone, you know what that means~” he sing-songs, rolling onto his back to let Breakdown lay back down. The moment his partner was completely horizontal, Knock Out curled closer to him, a smile still on his faceplates.

 

“We don’t hafta get outta bed?” Breakdown rumbles in reply, smiling as well. He pulled Knock Out closer, but kept his servo only on Knock Out’s upper body, not even daring to touch the lower back lights the Aston Martin had.

 

“Eeexactly,” Knock Out purrs, optics closing in contentment. “That’s something I miss about our life before all this…pesky business,” he muttered, ignoring the slight whine Breakdown’s systems gave at the perceived insult to Megatron. “Being able to set our own hours. Don’t you miss that too?”

 

Breakdown shrugged, draping his arm loosely over Knock Out and watching the stars swirl by through the window. In all honesty, he didn’t care where they were, as long as he had the racer and the supplies to keep them both happy. “I miss the quiet,” he says honestly. “And not having to listen to Starscream. But I have you and my fighting and I don’t really think I need much else.”

 

(Knock Out drew in a soft purr as he heard Breakdown’s soft admission. All was as it should be.)

 

This time, when Breakdown initiated the kiss, Knock Out found he didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I don't know if I told any of you guys this, but I do have a playlist on Spotify for this fic. If you guys wanna give it a listen or if you're interested in giving me more titles, you can check it out and lemme know on here. :)
> 
> [Reach Out Playlist](http://open.spotify.com/user/jacorbsss/playlist/5ma3GnWfW2lW5JFFglnTxk)


	5. Come Together, Take Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {Stop right there.} _That's exactly where I lost it._
> 
> {See that line?} _Well I never should have crossed it._
> 
> {Stop right there.} _Well I never should have said..._
> 
> **That's the very moment that I wish that I could take back.**
> 
> \- Reliant K, "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're back on the angst train. Underlined quote is from Adolf Hitler - according to Goodreads, that is.

The next few days passed by without much of an incident. Starscream’s absence from the ship seemed to only improve morale, in Knock Out’s humble opinion. The medic kept himself busy, working on improving the medbay to his own personal standards.

 

(Nothing would compare to the pure white that had saved his life, but not his spark. That place existed only in the ashes of Iacon.

 

Not in this flying relic of Kaon.)

 

Between ordering Breakdown to move the heavier things and organizing the finer details of medical records, the medic and his assistant would share small, shy smiles and passionate, clumsy kisses. _If this is what being trusting is like,_ Knock Out mused, _then I think I could get used to it._

 

During a self-proclaimed break from their reorganization, the two mechs were in their quarters, Knock Out in Breakdown’s lap. The medic kept his servos on Breakdown’s shoulders, pulling him closer into their hungry kiss. The passion was there, but there was no rush to move into a more intimate setting.

 

(These familiar steps, just the two of them quietly exploring each other’s frames, made Knock Out’s spark spin a bit tighter in his chest. It was more than he had dared to think about while he had been under Swindle’s control. With this as his tentative reality, he opened up a part of himself that perpetually hungered for Breakdown’s touch.

 

He could never get enough.)

 

Breakdown allowed himself a small moan as he traced his fingers down Knock Out’s frame, momentarily forgetting how skittish his boss could be.

 

A careless mistake.

 

When he brushed Knock Out’s lower back, tracing the heated lines of light set in dark metal, he was suddenly holding a statue.

 

Pulling back, instantly concerned, Breakdown looked down at Knock Out’s flushed faceplate. Primus, how he wanted the mech, but his desire had to wait; Breakdown knew every emotion of Knock Out’s, and this was fear.

 

( _The wolf inside growled, demanding an explanation for his mate’s discomfort. Circling, teeth bared, blind with anger, he hunted for a perpetrator he would not find._ )

 

“You okay?” he whispered, gently pulling his servo away from Knock Out’s back. He knew he had crossed a line, and though he wanted to continue, he knew he couldn’t make this about his selfish desires. Knock Out’s comfort took precedence.

 

It always had. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

 

He watched, helplessly, as Knock Out refused to meet his optics, trembling in his arms. Torn between wanting to pull Knock Out closer and not wanting to make anything worse, Breakdown simply let the mech go.

 

Dealing with Knock Out, when he was like this, was like dealing with an abused animal. A gentle touch was needed, with a soft voice and no sudden movements. That was without taking the medic’s pride into account. While Breakdown could sweet talk Knock Out to relative calmness, he couldn’t always guarantee how the racer would react to the treatment once he was back to himself.

 

Also, like dealing with an abused animal, progress was subjective. Sometimes Breakdown wondered if he had done the right thing, getting involved with the medic. But when he watched Knock Out shift from his usual flamboyant self into this… _husk_ of a mech when he thought Breakdown couldn’t see him…

 

It hurt.

 

So he did everything in his power to keep the mech happy and satisfied and not so scared of the shadows. Lowering his gaze to his lap, he let Knock Out escape and do whatever it was he needed to in order to fight this.

 

Knock Out slowly walked backwards, never once letting his gaze off of Breakdown’s side. The red optics were ashamed, dark and shining with unshed tears as Knock Out fought with _something_ inside him, something Breakdown knew he wasn’t privy to see yet. But he would see eventually.

 

If only he took things slow.

* * *

**_He’s going to break your trust again, you know. You shouldn’t have done what you did, you shouldn’t have let him in. We’ve tried to tell you and look – he was going to take things farther. We’re only doing this to protect you._ **

****

_You don’t want to protect me, you want to kill me._

**_Oh, sweet Knock Out – if we wanted to do that, we could have easily done so by now._ **

****

A shadowy claw tipped up Knock Out’s chin, before his vision was blocked with nothing but green optics. Green, swirling, _breathing_ optics that made him choke out a sob.

 

_(There was something different about it this time – he wasn’t entirely solidified. Like the voices were trying to get in his head but they just…couldn’t_

_He thought he didn’t know why.)_

 

Knock Out scrambled back, leaning against the wall of the berthroom, trying in vain to call out to Breakdown. But all that came out was a terrified, short, weak mewl that had the shadow mech cackling in glee.

 

**_Don’t play games, Knock Out~. We’re protecting you and you know it. Now shut up and do as we say. Just like a good little mech~_ **

****

The room went smoggy as the shadows expanded, crawling towards him and darkening the lights.

 

_(Again, solid but not quite – for once, a true ghost.)_

He was shivering, the one sane part of his mind recalled that he had not, in fact, taken the pills he was supposed to. He had once again felt his closeness to Breakdown was enough to seal the deal.

 

A ghostly claw opened in front of his face, the sharp metal cutting neatly through the air. The tantalizing pile of yellow, green, silver, and black pills stared up at him. He tried to get them, but found he couldn’t move his limbs.

 

He wished he could cry. He wished he could scream. He wished he could do anything but just sit here and take it like a

 

**_Weak pathetic mech who can’t function without his precious pills? We know; that’s why you’re so much fun._ **

 

Another claw joined the first, holding up syringes of a vile green liquid that made Knock Out’s tanks roil. Darkness, all around, all brought on by a simple touch and nothing more. How weak could he be?

 

**_To depend on that oaf? You’re the weakest._ **

* * *

Breakdown watched with morbid fascination as Knock Out seemed to stare right _through_ him. As the medic’s fingers clawed at the floor by his thighs, denta gritted and head held at an angle that looked as if he were being held by his throat.

 

Instantly the plan to not make anything worse was forgotten. How, if possible, could this get any worse? Any more painful? Watching the mech he loved writhe in obvious pain on the floor, unable to do anything than hold him close and pray for him to be okay?

 

(He had never been a religious mech but he had saviors and would not stand to see them hurt.)

 

He dashed forward, running right through a mech he could not see, and scooped the trembling Knock Out in his arms. He crouched there, keeping Knock Out close to him, no matter how hard the mech shook.

 

Soft gentle words, coaxing the smaller mech to hold him closer and trust him with his shaking, trembling frame.

 

“Shhh, you’re okay, it’s only us, just us here…you’re safe, you’re perfectly safe…oh love, you’re okay…” He gently kissed Knock Out’s helm fin, spark spinning tight with worry – until Knock Out seemed to snap out of it, catching his breath sharply.

 

Breakdown didn’t stop what he was doing, still crouching and gently stroking armor he knew was a safe place – his shoulders, upper arms, helm. “I got you, you’re okay now, it’s all okay…trust me, you’re safe, it’s a safe place…”

 

He never thought he could be the one to have the gentle touch, but he’d do anything for Knock Out.

* * *

The moment Breakdown had held the medic, the dark mech vanished. Helm tucked into Breakdown’s collar, fingers latched onto the thick armor and tears falling in thick, fat drops onto rich blue plating.

 

_a royal mess_

Knock Out allowed himself to collapse.

 

All of the will to be strong, to keep his condition away from Breakdown crumbled in his servos in a sigh of dust. He’d already begun the desperate pleading, sobbing incoherently for his loyalty, grasping for fidelity as if it were something to be given about freely.

 

(Breakdown had always been loyal. That was his one hamartia that would end up getting him killed.)

 

The duo remained that way on the floor for quite some time, the sound of crying fading away into the quiet of their quarters. Breakdown didn’t allow himself to speak to the small medic, instead keeping up the calming touches which seemed to be working. He would wait for now – he’d wait long and good until Knock Out was ready to talk.

* * *

Eventually, the shaking mech looked up at his partner, blinking the coolant tears away. The shame rolled off him in waves as his body trembled, his servos rattling against Breakdown’s arms.

 

He had good reason to be afraid, though. The voices had never been that strong before…granted, it wasn’t a full-fledged attack, but it was still something to be worried about.

 

That was a worry for the future.

 

Now, looking up into the worried golden optics of his partner, Knock Out couldn’t find a quip or joke to get him out of the impending conversation. He crawled closer to Breakdown, a few more tears slipping down his faceplates as he dug his claws into the bigger mech’s armor.

 

“W-we can talk later…I don’t want to have this conversation right now,” he whispered, voice hoarse in a way that was decidedly more broken than sexy. The tips of his audio receptors tinged red with embarrassment, and he kept his face hidden against Breakdown’s plating.

 

To his surprise, he felt Breakdown nod his assent. “Can do,” the bruiser whispered. “As long as you’ll be okay. Take your time, though. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

 

Knock Out’s spark gave a sharp pang as it spun faster in its chamber. “I-I think so. Can you let me up?” he asked, blinking his tears away as he dares to look up at Breakdown. “I need to…get something.”

 

“Can I come with you?” Breakdown murmured, rubbing Knock Out’s shoulder gently. “Don’t want to let you go just yet.”

 

The medic nods haltingly, knowing Breakdown would have to see the pills sometime or another. He had done well enough in hiding them when they had first joined the Nemesis – before that, they were in his subspace – but with their newfound closeness, the secret couldn’t exist for much longer. He stood, using Breakdown’s body and the wall to guide him to his peds. When Breakdown followed suit, he anchored his fingers in the gap between Breakdown’s hip and his chassis, holding onto the warm metal there.

 

The duo walked into the medbay, Knock Out making sure the doors were locked as he opened up a drawer. He delicately extracts his four pills, the dimly glowing shapes pulsing in time with his guilty spark. “They help prevent…well, what you just saw,” he said softly, popping them in his mouth one at a time. “I forgot to take them. I-it was on me.”

 

Breakdown watched, his servos hanging uselessly at his side. With each pill the medic took, the grip on his hip grew a bit surer, less trembling now. The bruiser could see the relaxation settling over the medic, but he felt an uncertain nagging beneath his spark.

 

(Should he question the treatment? Was it a valid prescription or…recreational substitutes? Who was he to question his boss?

 

 _Handler._ )

 

He wasn’t. So he quietly stewed inside, content for now that Knock Out seemed to be doing better. “They work quickly,” he observed dumbly.

 

“Yes. That they do. Helps to have an elevated spark rate.” He closed the drawer, a faint click in the silent medbay only adding to the guilt. Even after all that, he still didn’t want Breakdown messing around with his already messed up mind. Leaning closer to the bruiser, he sought out silent comfort, optics closing. “Sorry you had to see that.”

 

“Don’t be. That wasn’t your fault,” Breakdown soothed, reaching down with closed optics to kiss Knock Out’s helm fin. “Don’t blame yourself. I want to see all of you, Knock Out. Not just the side you show everyone else. Because…well, then it means I only mean as much to you as everyone else. It may not have been intentional…but I’m not going anywhere, Knock Out. If you want my help, whatever it can be, you know you can just let me know.”

 

_Surprisingly profound._

Knock Out nodded slowly to the words, sighing quietly at the kiss. “…okay.” The silence continued, just the two of then taking solace in the other.

 

(Technically, it was Breakdown’s fault. The voices had never been that strong around the bruiser before, but the moment any more intimate touches were introduced, they came back, stronger than ever.

 

It unnerved the medic.

 

All this time, it turned out his safe haven – when really, what constituted as safe anymore? – wasn’t as safe as he thought.

 

 _[ If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.] _Advice from a human’s warlord. Pathetic.)

 

Until Breakdown’s comm link went off, carrying nothing but a short, direct message from none other than Starscream himself.

 

(Knock Out only noticed because of the stiffness in his partner’s frame. A gentle rub from his thumb over the smooth expanse of Breakdown’s hip he currently held, however, soothed the frontliner.)

 

//Breakdown, Soundwave has picked up on an Energon deposit reading. He has the coordinates. Go get it. Starscream out.//

 

He growled lowly at the dismissal, but looked down to Knock Out with a regretful keen. “That was Starscream. He’s sending me out for Energon, and it’s already gone through Soundwave, so…I really have no choice. You think you’ll be okay here?” Not that he would say it to Knock Out’s face, but his partner was currently a liability with how shaken he was. The tremors had mostly faded, but the medics optics were dull, haunted, and more open than Breakdown had ever seen them.

 

He looked tragically beautiful.

 

Knock Out pulled Breakdown into a kiss, his engine letting out a high whine to express his displeasure at their separation. He moved his servo from the bigger mech’s hip up to his jaw, holding the silver jaw guard there. Lightly, ever so lightly, he brushed his glossa against Breakdown’s lower lip, moving on his ped tips to bring his mouth closer to Breakdown’s.

 

Taken aback, Breakdown responded submissively, obediently opening his mouth for the doctor. He lightly brushed his servo’s over Knock Out’s upper back, steering clear of the back lights that had started the whole ordeal. //I promise I’ll be back,// he whispered over their private comm line. //Nothing will happen. But I have to go, in case Starscream changes that.//

 

Knock Out reluctantly pulled back, his audio tips flushing pink again at the string of oral coolant connecting their mouths. “Yes…of course. I’ll see you…when you return.”

 

They parted ways with one last affectionate touch – Knock Out to his berth to calm down, and Breakdown to go hunt energon.

 

That was the last time Knock Out would ever see his partner completely whole and unharmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know what happens next.


End file.
